


hearts don't lie

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Boys In Love, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Friendship, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Heartbeat Kink, Heartbeats, Insecurity, Intimacy, Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Not Season/Series 08 Compliant, Paladins, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Service Top Shiro (Voltron), Trust, but like super soft dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Shiro piloting the Paladins’ prototype ship is meant to be cause for celebration, but when it malfunctions, Keith panics, terrified of losing him.After the flight, Shiro reassures him and demonstrates exactly how much he loves Keith, with every beat of his heart.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 295





	hearts don't lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sainnis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/gifts).



> This written for starlitruns who incidentally is always amazing and beta read her own gift. This wouldn't exist without her. Thank you, Sai. <3

Keith crashes through the door with such force it slams against the wall. “Did I miss it?” 

The heads of all four people in the room turn towards Keith, making his cheeks heat. He clears his throat and stands a little taller, distinctly aware he was running late enough that he didn’t have time to even finish buttoning his uniform. Not that anyone in this room cares much for Garrison protocol but _still_. At least they’re all fully dressed. Keith’s got his jacket half-buttoned and untucked, and one of his shoes isn’t tied. 

“Yes, you missed everything,” Lance yells from across the room. “Such a tragedy. Shiro was amazing.”

Pidge snorts loudly, whacking Lance with her elbow and spinning around in her chair to face Keith. 

“You didn’t miss anything. Although you’re late,” she says, managing to sound chastising.

“I know, I know,” Keith grumbles, running a hand through his hair as he kicks the door shut behind him. He doesn’t want to think about the comedy of errors that nearly prevented him from seeing Shiro’s test run, from the alarm not going off to the cadet who puked on him in the mess hall while he tried to get coffee.

He’s exhausted and grumpy and all he wants is to see Shiro fly.

“So late,” Lance sing-songs as Keith drops into the chair between Hunk and Pidge and not the empty one beside Lance. 

Hunk passes Keith a headset. “Here you go, buddy.”

“Thanks.” Keith grins, plopping it down over his ears.

“Is that Keith?” Shiro asks, his familiar voice crackling through the earpiece.

“Yes, sir,” Keith grins, leaning back in his chair as he adjusts the speaker piece closer to his mouth, watching as the rest of his friends follow suit and put their headsets on as well. “Sorry I’m late. Long story, don’t ask.”

“I’m just glad you’re here, gorgeous,” Shiro tells him and even through the speaker Keith can imagine the way Shiro must be smiling as he says it. The unmistakable pleasure in his voice from Keith’s presence sends a rush of warmth to Keith’s gut, banishing his residual bad mood from his morning gone wrong.

“Uh, my dudes, you do realize this isn’t a closed comm. We can all hear you,” Lance says.

Keith almost wishes he’d sat closer to him so he could kick him beneath the desks. As it is, he settles for flipping him off behind Pidge’s back.

“I think it’s sweet,” Allura interjects from across the room, seated at the mission control station. “They’re still in the, what is it you humans call it, the honeymoon phase?”

“I don’t think it counts as a honeymoon phase if they’re not married,” Pidge interrupts. 

“I mean, Shiro and Keith are as good as married,” Hunk says. “Like do we all need a ceremony to see they’re, like, the most perfect couple in the entire universe?”

“I’d marry Keith,” Shiro says, his voice barely audible from the wind that must have kicked up around him, causing a bit of feedback on his mic.

“Shiro,” Keith huffs, face warming. It’s nothing new. They’ve talked about marriage before. They’ve talked about a lot.

Still, it never fails to make Keith feel flustered when Shiro says it so casually, as if committing himself to Keith for the rest of his life is something easy and joyful. The ring that’s hidden in the back of Keith’s sock drawer weighs heavy in his mind as certainty takes hold.

He’s not sure when yet, or even what he’s waiting for. They’re as good as engaged already, but Keith’s still waiting for the perfect moment to make it official. Shiro deserves perfection.

“Again, not a closed comm,” Lance interjects. “You two are disgusting.”

“I think it’s quite charming, Lance,” Allura says, causing Lance to jab his elbow into his keypad, which makes a horrifying loud buzzing sound echo through all of their headsets.

“I’d marry you too, princess,” Lance yells over the beeping, jabbing at his screen until the buzzing stops. Even from across the room, Allura’s blush is visible.

“I hate you all. I haven’t had enough coffee to be sandwiched between two lovesick idiots,” Pidge sighs with the air of someone long-suffering.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re both disgusting _and_ sweet,” Hunk says.

Keith groans. “Please don’t ever lump me in with Lance.” 

Hunk merely shrugs. “Sorry, buddy. I call it like I see it.”

“If you’re all done, we should probably get started.” Shiro laughs. “I can see a dust storm kicking up in the distance and I really wanna test this thing before it gets close enough to interfere with the engine. Also, you know, it’s just a little cold.”

For Shiro to say that, it must be freezing as hell. It’s a stark reminder for Keith and the rest of them that while they’re all situated comfortably in mission control, Shiro’s the one who's been out in the elements since before the sun rose, ready at the crack of dawn to test an experimental stealth plane he and Allura helped develop with joint knowledge from ATLAS, the Garrison, and Altean tech. 

“Of course. Shiro is right,” Allura says, swiping across her screen to bring up the flight plans on her screen. She places her palm flat on the glass to authorize flight and the screen flashes green. “You’re ready to go in ten ticks.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

A flutter of excitement races through Keith as the viewscreen in front of him changes from black to a wide open landscape—the sun peeking over the horizon and casting the desert in hues of red and orange. He tips forward in his chair, dropping his elbows onto the desktop as he gazes at the terrain.

“You seeing this, Keith?”

“Yeah, Shiro. I see it,” Keith says, unable to tamp down his smile even though he can feel Pidge and Lance staring at him. It’s impossible to contain his joy when Shiro sounds so damn happy.

“Five ticks, Shiro,” Allura interrupts.

“Yes, ma’am.” Shiro laughs, the camera moving as Shiro adjusts himself in the cockpit, preparing for flight. 

This flight test run’s been a long time coming. Six months ago, this idea had been something Allura and Shiro came up with at drinks during one of the group’s regular Monster and Mana nights, but it’d quickly gone from _wouldn’t this be cool_ to _I’m going to run this idea through the line of command_. There’d been a brief hiccup in authorization when the Garrison realized Allura and Shiro wouldn’t take on the project unless they got to hand-pick their team, which coincidently included Hunk, Pidge, Keith and Lance. After a few days of refusing to budge, though, the Garrison had signed off on the use of one of their private hangers, as well as officially upping the rest of the paladins’ security clearance.

Since then it’s been a whirlwind of trial and error (a hell of a lot of error) and long nights spent formatting reclaimed tech in order to create a powerhouse cruiser—half the size of anything the Garrison was able to make but twice as fast and able with withstand nearly as much impact as the old Castleship. 

And now they’re all reaping the rewards of that hard work.

Granted, none of them are expecting any kind of attack or the need for a stealth cruiser that could go into battle. Since the end of the war, things have slowly settled into something that feels very much like peace. Still, all of them are at their core engineers or explorers, and while there’s safety and comfort in peace, there’s also boredom. 

“You’re clear for takeoff, Shiro,” Allura instructs, authorizing the go.

“Here goes nothing,” Shiro says, flipping the ignition for the ship. It’s whisper-quiet but Keith knows it works when Shiro’s exuberant laughter echoes through the comm.

“Show us what you’ve got, hotshot.”

The sounds of Shiro’s delight grow as he pushes down the throttle. In two seconds flat, Keith’s got an up close and personal view of what Shiro is seeing as the cruiser races across the desert. 

“Are you guys seeing these numbers?” Hunk yells, tapping at his screen near the speed readouts.

Lance whistles. “Shiro’s about to break some records.”

“Hell yes, I am!” Shiro diverts more power to the engine as the speed tracker on the screen continues to rise higher.

A chill races up Keith’s spine as he imagines the pride that’ll be on Shiro’s face when he returns to base. Keith is so fucking proud of him that his heart aches. He’s proud of all of them, really, but no one more than Shiro. He’d taken the brunt of bureaucratic bullshit to get this plan off the ground, fielded every inquiry from above and single-handedly taken the fall for every failure, knowing they wouldn’t dare say anything to the Admiral of the ATLAS. 

Shiro was the reason they were all here and each and every one of them knew it.

When it’d come time to decide which one of them would get the honor of doing the first test flight, Shiro had tried to find a fair way to make sure they all had an equal shot at the opportunity if they wanted. _You all deserve this_ , he’d said, even though each and every one of the paladins knew he was chomping at the bit to be the first one in the pilot seat. As always, he was ready to give up his chance for someone else. 

Shiro’s face when they’d unanimously decided they all wanted Shiro to do it had been one of the most glorious moments of his life—the memory of Shiro’s surprise and joy forever burned into Keith’s brain.

Though the war had taken much from all of them, Shiro especially, it hadn’t taken the desire for adventure or exploration out of Shiro. 

Not even on his darkest days had the fight gone out of him and there’s no greater joy for Keith than seeing a flicker of that lighthearted boy he met all those years ago now. Keith loves all versions of Shiro, of course, but being able to see Shiro _excited_ to fly just for fun has Keith’s heart racing. 

This is what Shiro deserves, what they all deserve.

“Holy shit, he’s gonna do it!” Lance yells, pounding on the desk as Shiro speed races toward mach 10 and then past.

“Oh, this is quite exciting, isn’t it?” Allura lets out a sparkling laugh.

She’s right, it is exciting. Keith had been happy for Shiro, but he hadn’t realized just how thrilling it’d be just to watch. With Shiro’s camera facing out, it feels like they’re all there with him.

“Oh dear, Shiro, are you alright?” Allura asks, tapping at her controls. 

Immediately Shiro’s vitals are displayed on the bottom of the screen and Keith’s vision tunnels into his heart rate—139 bpm.

“Fine, princess,” Shiro says a little breathlessly. 

Keith’s heard him like this before, seen his heart rate go that high. It’s above average, of course, but not worryingly so, not when he’s really excited.

Allura, clearly unsure, turns toward Keith. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah.” Keith grins, biting back a laugh when Shiro makes a scandalized sound through the comms. 

“What, do none of you trust me?”

“Sorry, buddy. You lost our trust in regards to being fine when you—” but Hunk stops talking when the video feed cuts out. “What happened?”

“Probably just a technical issue, I got it,” Pidge says, yanking her wireless keypad towards herself and tapping away so fast Keith’s not sure how she even knows what she’s doing.

“Everything alright, Shiro?” Keith asks.

No answer.

“Shiro?” Keith tries again, refusing to worry. Technical issues happen all the time. Besides, Shiro’s vitals are still flashing on screen.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Shiro says through an annoying amount of static. “I don’t know what happened. Flew over the—” but he cuts out again the comm turning to pure white noise.

“Pidge?” Keith asks, turning towards her. Her frown does not inspire confidence.

“This doesn’t make sense. All the readings are fine.” Pidge groans, punching at the keys so hard she might actually do some damage. “The visuals shouldn’t be down.”

“Allura?” Keith asks.

“I’m not sure, Keith. The crystal doesn’t appear to have lost any power and—” but Allura is unexpectedly cut off by Shiro’s voice crackling through the comms again.

“Not a big deal—” More static, enough that Shiro’s words feel more ominous than they should. There’s not a human alive that can handle a ship like Shiro, and Keith knows he shouldn’t worry, but it’s hard to ignore the tiny prickle of unease. “Small storm.”

“What kind of storm?” Lance asks before Keith has a chance to.

There’s no answer.

“Hunk, bring up the secondary flight path on your screen. Check for any unexpected disturbances or changing weather patterns.”

“On it, Allura,” Hunk says, looking much like Pidge as his fingers fly. 

Numbers flash across his screen too quickly for Keith to make sense of them. He’s pretty good at logistics, but not _this_ fast.

“Don’t worry, mullet. I’m sure he’s fine,” Lance says.

It’s objectively a nice thing to say, but something about it sets Keith on edge. He wasn’t _really_ worried before. He is now. Just a little bit.

Objectively Keith knows it’s likely nothing more than interference from an unexpected desert storm. Shiro has proven himself more than capable of handling any situation, including an unforeseen weather issue. Except, Lance is _being nice_ and Pidge is mumbling under her breath the same way she used to when they would pilot their lions and Hunk is, well—calm as ever. Something about it all makes Keith’s throat begin to close off.

“Shiro,” Keith tries, hoping no one else notices the way his voice wobbles.

No answer. He didn’t expect one, but the crackle of silence on the comm is so familiar. Too familiar.

Suddenly Keith’s back in the Black Lion, calling for Shiro. Calling for Shiro who was _gone_.

The edges of Keith’s vision blur and he can feel the rise of anxiety—his own heart rate beginning to speed and an inexplicable breathlessness that makes it feel as if there’s not enough oxygen in the room. He’s had enough panic attacks since the war ended to know what’s happening and the timing couldn’t be fucking worse. 

It’s not time for Keith to be stupid. It’s time to be calm and support Shiro, to troubleshoot the tech and—

“What the hell is happening with his vitals?” Lance yelps.

The words drag Keith out of his tunnel of panic and and back to the present as his eyes frantically roam over his screen. Shiro’s vitals are spiking, his blood pressure rising as his heart rate surges to 163. 

_Something is wrong_.

“Shiro!” Keith hears his own panic in his voice.

He’s vaguely aware of Hunk putting a hand on his shoulder but Keith can’t focus on anything but the way Shiro’s vitals jump higher on the screen. Keith knows exactly what Shiro’s vitals look like when he’s calm and safe, and what they look like when he’s a sweaty, writhing mess above Keith. These are neither. The vitals are erratic and too high and—

“Where the fuck did the vitals go?” Keith shouts, slamming his palm against the now blank screen.

“It’s fine. I can get them back,” Pidge says with an uncanny amount of calm. “Don’t worry, Keith.”

Her words have the opposite effect. Pidge should be yelling at her screen, too, but she’s not. She’s being calm for Keith and that makes everything so much fucking worse.

Keith tries to breathe in through his nose, to practice the breathing techniques he and Shiro learned together to manage their post-war PTSD and panic attacks. Except just thinking about practicing the breathing techniques makes Keith’s throat close off more as he imagines Shiro in their apartment—dressed in his favorite old t-shirt and a pair of indecently thin grey sweatpants, sitting cross legged on the rug across from Keith with a smile like sunshine as he whispers _we can do this, Keith. We won a war, we can beat our brains, too_.

It’s too much like the last time Keith lost him and Keith is not fucking okay.

Around him the voices increase; another hand appears on his back. He shrugs them off so hard he nearly tips his chair. He doesn’t want anyone touching him. He wants Shiro.

There’s a tiny part of Keith’s brain left that’s still capable of logical thought, the part that reminds him that whatever is happening, Shiro can handle it, that Shiro is going to come back to him. Shiro will always come back to him. That voice is drowned out by the larger part of Keith’s brain that feels as if he’s alone in space again.

Lance—or at least he’s pretty sure it’s Lance—tries to get him to sit back down and Keith reacts without thinking and elbows him in the side, unable to stomach having anyone who isn’t Shiro touching him. On a good day Keith doesn’t like to be touched by other people; right now the contact is like nails on a chalkboard to his central nervous system, which screams _this is not Shiro_ every time one of his friends tries to calm him down.

He _knows_ they mean well, which makes it worse as self loathing mixes with fear.

The sight of the black screen in front of him makes the panic rise and Keith’s hands tremble as he struggles to breathe. Keith ignores the voices around him, unable to stomach them saying it’ll be okay as he repeatedly smacks the blank screen, yelling for Shiro.

Suddenly he’s not at the Garrison anymore—safe and happy surrounded by his friends as they help Shiro do a test flight for fun. Instead he’s back in space with Shiro in a healing pod as his vitals drop.

It’s too fucking much like every single time Keith’s lost Shiro before and the small hold he has on reality threatens to slip. It’s only Shiro’s voice in the back of his mind reminding him he is safe and loved that stops Keith from spiraling completely. Mustering all of his emotional fortitude he breathes in deeply through his nose, picturing Shiro’s big, warm hand on the center of his belly.

_Breathe in deep, baby. Feel the oxygen moving through your body and filling your lungs. Don’t think about the world outside of you, just focus on the breaths, okay?_

Back in those early days Keith hadn’t thought any of this would work. At the end of the war, he was still so raw, his sense of peace and stability so fragile. He’d still felt a little too broken for stupid breathing techniques to help. He’d only gone along with it for Shiro, aware that if Keith practiced breathing techniques for anxiety then Shiro would do it. It was never supposed to help Keith; it’d been for Shiro.

Somewhere along the line, though, it started to help both of them.

_One, two, three, four_ he mentally counts, inhaling through his nose. He holds for seven seconds, then slowly makes a whooshing sound with his mouth as he exhales on eight.

Keith repeats the action, Shiro’s voice filling his mind as the panic slowly recedes. _Oh, I’m so proud of you, baby._

Tears prickle at the corner of Keith’s eyes as he drops his face into his folded arms, refusing to let anyone else look at him.

_Four, seven, eight._

_Four, seven, eight_.

Slowly but surely, the buzzing in Keith’s ears recedes as the vice around his heart loosens. Once he feels able, he lifts his face, making sure to rub his eyes on his forearm before sitting up.

“I’ve almost got him back online, I can feel it,” Pidge says.

“Do we have tracking?” Keith asks, glad when none of them mention his panic attack and simply fall back into line.

“I’ve pulled the Garrison satellites, which show Shiro heading back to the hangar right now. We don’t know what went wrong yet, but we do know Shiro is still in the air,” Hunk says, reaching out towards Keith with his left hand before pulling it back and offering a smile instead.

Keith exhales a shuddering breath, reminding himself this is okay. They’re just his friends, they’re not judging him. If anything, they love him and while they don’t know what he needs in the way Shiro might, they’re trying. It helps.

“There appears to be a small amount of damage to the propulsion system on the anterior, but it’s not major enough to have caused any serious engine malfunctions,” Allura adds. “It appears that Shiro may have had to override the automated flight plan, which may just explain why power was diverted away from the video and comm systems.”

Keith nods, still too frazzled to really answer them. Instead he touches the screen, wishing it weren’t blank.

He just needs to see Shiro, to _know_ he’s alright, and then Keith can settle the last of his nerves.

Right now all he wants is a steaming cup of coffee and to be crushed under Shiro’s comforting weight in their bed. He feels raw around the edges and uncomfortably close to crying even though everything’s fine. Most of all, he’s frustrated at his inability to stave off the panic before it took hold. Were Shiro here, he’d remind Keith that it’s not a weakness to have panic attacks, but Shiro isn’t, which is exactly the problem.

With his mind feeling fuzzy around the edges and the residual post-panic fatigue leaving him feeling just a little wrongfooted and unable to focus, it’s hard for Keith to track the progression of time. Thankfully no one comments on it and the rest of them easily pick up Keith’s slack, taking note of Shiro’s return speed and charting the flight data as Keith stares at the blank vital signs on his screen.

One tick Keith’s struggling to focus on which of the others is talking and the next, Hunk is gently tapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey, buddy. I think you kinda blanked out there or something. Shiro is docking in hanger two right now. Allura thinks maybe we should all uh, you know—take a break. She’s already messaged Shiro and told him to just meet you in your apartment instead of here. We’re going to hold the debriefing meeting to figure out what happened tomorrow morning. Pidge wants more time to decode her data.”

No one needs a break but Keith, and Pidge never needs more time. It’s all such an obvious lie that Keith would laugh if he weren’t so damn grateful for the excuse to get out of here, especially to see Shiro on his own away from prying eyes. As much as he knows their friends mean well, he doesn’t relish crying in front of them again and he’s not sure what’s going to happen when he lays eyes on Shiro. 

He’s hoping for nothing. He’s hoping he can see Shiro and clap him on the back and simply say _You did amazing_ , but the truth is he’s not sure. 

“Okay, Hunk,” he agrees, pushing away from the desk.

“You need me to walk you back to your room? I was thinking of going that way anyway.”

There’s nowhere _that way_ Hunk could be going. Shiro and Keith’s apartment is easily the least convenient apartment on the entire base—situated in the furthest corner of the housing wing and down a flight of stairs. It’s such a pain in the ass to get to that no one else wanted it, which is exactly what makes it so perfect for them. Sure they often have to set their alarm fifteen minutes early to make sure they’re not late and after a long day it can feel tedious to trek so far, but it’s always worth it to get home and know that they don’t share a wall with anyone else—they can have as much quiet as they like, or make as much noise as they please. 

“No, I’m okay.” At Hunk’s appraising look, Keith can only imagine what he looks like. “I swear, I’m fine. I just need some coffee and, well—”

“Shiro,” Hunk finishes.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, ducking his head. It’s only when he turns around that he realizes everyone else is already gone.

“Well, we’re all only a message away. Let me know if you two need anything,” Hunk says, falling into step with Keith as they make their way towards the door.

“Thank you, Hunk,” Keith breathes, stepping out into the busy corridor and inhaling sharply. 

By the time he’s walked himself all the way across base to their apartment, he’s managed to talk himself down. He’s still feeling a bit ridiculous for panicking so badly but at least he’s accepted now that Shiro is fine.

He leaves the door unlocked for Shiro, kicks off his boots by the couch, and makes his way to the kitchen. The familiar sight of the clean dishes drying on the dishrack and the half-full mug of tea Shiro clearly forgot about this morning sitting on the dining room table starts to soothe the frayed edges of Keith’s nerves. 

Everywhere he looks, from the dog-eared book on the coffee table to the basket of apples on the counter Shiro loves—Fuji because _“They’re sweet, Keith, like you_ —all he can see is Shiro.” His slippers are sticking out halfway under the couch and his jacket hangs by the door. 

Hell, the apartment even _smells_ like him. Shiro’s too congenial to wear much cologne on work days in case anyone’s got a scent sensitivity, but since Keith doesn’t, he indulges himself in wearing it on their days off for himself and Keith. If Keith closes his eyes and focuses on the scent, he can pick up notes of the musky, spicy aroma—strongest in the living room, likely coming from the sofa where they usually cuddle. Out and about, his heightened Galra senses can lead to sensory overload, but here in their home, it’s exactly the way Keith likes it, every sight and sound and smell achingly familiar and so comforting.

It should make things better, but instead it makes a lump form in Keith’s throat at the idea of losing Shiro—losing _this_. His family, his home. 

He can’t lose him, he won’t.

“Keith!” Shiro yells, the door swinging open. “Where are you?”

At the first sound of Shiro’s honey-sweet voice, some of the tension in Keith’s shoulders ease.

“In the kitchen!” He grabs both their coffees and takes another steadying breath. This is fine, he tells himself. He can relax and ask Shiro about the flight and calmly tell him what happened in the control room and—

“What the fuck, Shiro?” Keith wheezes, nearly dropping the cups of coffee when he catches sight of him. 

Shiro’s standing in the doorway, still dressed in his flight suit. Were this happening under any other circumstances, Keith would be giving a hearty whistle of appreciation for the way the material clings to Shiro’s tiny waist and thick thighs as well as highlighting the expansive breadth of his chest. Instead, all he can do is focus on the nasty bruise forming across the left half of Shiro’s face and the split lip he’s currently sporting—a bit of dried blood in the corner. 

“It’s not that bad,” Shiro tries, swiping a hand through his hair as he kicks his boots off. “Something interfered with the reception between the crystal and power circuit for just a few ticks and the ship maybe sort of started careening down the ravine. But I managed to override the fail systems Allura had in place and launch manual flight. Just bumped my head a little in the process.”

Keith blinks, a strange buzzing noise filling his ears. 

“On the bright side we now know the interface system Hunk and Pidge design does not hold up well in dust storms and—“

Keith doesn’t let him finish, slamming the coffee mugs down on the coffee table with such force it splashes out and stains the rug. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is touching Shiro. 

“You’re hurt,” Keith says, practically throwing himself at Shiro who opens his arms and welcomes Keith into an easy embrace. 

“I mean, barely. I’ve had much worse.”

His words have the opposite of the desired effect as mental images of exactly how much worse Shiro’s had it flash through Keith’s mind—the arena, captivity, experimentation, the astral plane. The list goes on and on and now the thoughts of each one of them are cemented firmly in Keith’s mind. 

Shiro hurting. Shiro in pain. Shiro lost. 

Shiro _gone_.

The thoughts are like poison, flooding his system with cortisol.

Suddenly the room feels too small as he digs his hands into Shiro’s flight suit, tightening his death grip on Shiro. 

“Baby, I’m fine,” Shiro tries, wrapping his arms more securely around Keith. “I promise. A little near crash and some turbulence isn’t enough to do me in.”

Keith makes a noise that’s uncomfortably close to a growl as he tries to find the words to express what he’s feeling. He fails, words insufficient, and his body flooded with so many stress hormones it feels like the inside of his brain is full of the same static he heard when Shiro’s comm went down. He tries to open his mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is something like a plaintive cry as he realizes his canines have sharped. He tries to hug Shiro even tighter, dismayed to hear the sound of Shiro’s very expensive Garrison-issued flight suit ripping. He yanks his hands back and stares at them, frowning at the way his nails are sharpening into talons.

He’s losing control. 

Fuck. 

He tries to remember what breathing technique he’s supposed to use to stave this off, but it’s too hard to concentrate. The only part of Keith’s brain that’s currently functioning is the hindbrain, which is screaming at Keith to protect Shiro. 

It’s not like earlier, not quite a panic attack. It’s something different, more primal— _more Galra_.

His mom’s words from last month when he’d shyly shown her the ring he bought for Shiro fill his mind as he desperately tries to stave off the building panic clawing its way up his spine. 

_You are only half Galra, kit. You don’t bond the way other Galra do but your body and heart recognize Shiro as your mate. You’re ready to solidify that bond. I’m so happy for you, but you must know that in times of stress this will manifest. You should be prepared._

She’d gone on to talk about things like Galra mate marks and tactical reception. As soon as she’d gotten into things that were most definitely sex-adjacent, Keith had blushed up to his hairline and zoned out. At the time, Keith chalked it all up to his mom trying to fill in the gaps of conversations she might’ve had with him when he was a teenager if she’d been around. He didn’t really take it to heart. The world was safe now and there weren’t going to be times of stress where Keith needed to worry about his Galra side kicking in and demanding he prove his ability to protect Shiro like a caveman.

He wishes he’d paid more attention to her now because the need filling his veins is unlike anything he’s ever felt before. If he looked in a mirror, he knows he’d see yellow eyes staring back at him.

“Keith, hey—look at me,” Shiro urges, moving his hands to Keith’s chin to tip his face up. 

A pitiful sound falls from Keith’s lips as he breathes through his nose and tries not to cry. He feels completely and utterly out of control.

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, his tone so achingly sweet and understanding that something inside of Keith shatters. 

“It was like last time. It was like I was back in the Black Lion and we were all there but you. You were gone and I was yelling for you but it didn’t work this time and you, and you—”

The feelings inside of him click into place like lost puzzle pieces now found. Shiro is his mate.

Shiro is _his_ and Keith almost lost him again. Maybe it’s an exaggeration, but his heart can’t tell the difference. All his heart knows is that his mate is hurt and Keith needs him.

“Breathe, baby,” Shiro whispers, smoothing the hair off his face and kissing his forehead. 

He doesn’t shy away when he catches sight of the yellow in Keith’s eyes or the way his teeth have sharpened into fangs. Instead he touches Keith with more conviction, a palm on Keith’s cheek sliding down to his neck.

Shiro says something but the buzzing in Keith’s ears is too loud to make sense of it. When Shiro squeezes his hand Keith gets the idea, following Shiro down the hallway to their bedroom.

Things still don’t make a lot of sense but when Shiro starts to get naked, well, that’s something Keith understands. He surges forward, swatting Shiro’s hands away to do it himself.

“Oh, okay,” Shiro breathes, settling his hands at his sides.

Words are still too hard, and another little growl rumbles out of Keith’s chest as he yanks the zipper down with enough force that he breaks it. He’ll care later. For now all that matters is Shiro and the bare skin beneath the flight suit. Well, almost bare. Shiro’s got on a thin tank top and skintight boxers, which he lets Keith remove for him as well, quiet and patient as Keith paws at the offending garments separating him from miles of Shiro’s beautiful skin.

Keith uses up all his coordination on Shiro because by the time Shiro is naked and Keith’s trying to join in, he apparently forgets how hands work and ends up with his fucking undershirt stuck on his head.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Shiro soothes, tugging the shirt off easily.

“Stupid,” Keith grumbles. 

“Nothing about you is stupid,” Shiro tells him, wordlessly helping Keith shed his stupid pants too.

As much as Keith wants to believe his words, they feel too idealistic to be true. Shiro’s looked at Keith with rose-tinted glasses since the day he met him and Keith doesn’t have a fucking clue how he got so lucky.

The truth is there’s a lot of things about Keith that are stupid, including this. He doesn’t hate being Galra, but he hates feeling one step behind. Not human enough to be fully human and not enough Galra to be totally Galra. He’s spent the last few years struggling to make sense of what it means to be both, and every time he thinks he’s settled into acceptance, his body kicks up with some new thing he doesn’t know how to handle.

“I’m weird,” Keith mumbles, unsure where the words come from. It’s not a new thought, but he sure as fuck didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Baby,” Shiro tries, crowding into his space and cupping Keith’s face in his hands. They’re such nice hands, so big and warm and it’s hard for Keith to think properly when the man he loves more than life itself is touching him.

“S’true,” Keith exhales.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

“Galra thing,” Keith croaks, summoning every ounce of brain power he possesses to maintain the conversation when all he wants to do is throw Shiro down on the bed and reaffirm that he belongs to Keith. “I could handle the panic attack but this is...different.”

“Different how?” Shiro asks, smoothing his left hand down to rest at the side of Keith’s neck.

Keith exhales slowly, running his tongue across his teeth. For Shiro, he’d give voice to every raw and painful thought but he just doesn’t fucking know how.

He doesn’t know how to explain what he wants, what he _needs_. 

“I can’t,” Keith all but cries, frustrated and shamed. Shiro deserves to know what’s going on, what he’s getting himself into spending his life with Keith. But Keith doesn’t know how to tell him when he barely fucking knows himself.

“Okay, baby,” Shiro whispers, easy as that.

“Why are you so _good_ to me,” Keith whines, balling his hands into fists and digging the claws into his palm.

“Because I love you.”

“I love you too,” Keith exhales, moisture pooling at the corner of his eyes when Shiro tenderly reaches for his fists and uncurls them, bringing Keith’s hand up to his mouth. With an aching amount of tenderness he smooths his metal fingers over the lines Keith dug into his palm, soothing over them several times before cradling Keith’s palm in his hand and bringing it up to his mouth. When Shiro kisses the ugly red crescents, something inside of Keith shatters.

“I love you, baby. All of you. It doesn’t matter if it’s a human thing or a Galra thing. For me, it’s all just a Keith thing. And just for the record, I am so into all Keith things.”

“I have fangs,” Keith says pitifully.

“So sexy,” Shiro says, reaching for his other hand and repeating the same actions. When his lips make contact with the tender flesh of his palm, Keith’s entire body thrums.

“My eyes are yellow.”

“Sexy,” Shiro affirms, kissing the inside of his pulse.

“I have claws and I want to throw you down onto the bed and claim you like a fucking caveman because my Galra side thinks you’re my mate and you getting hurt is triggering my need to claim you and—” he bites off the last words, clenching his jaw.

“Again, all Keith things,” Shiro murmurs against the inside of his wrist, pressing a kiss to the fluttering pulse point. “There’s no Galra Keith and human Keith, just Keith. _My Keith_.”

Keith doesn’t know how the hell he got lucky enough to find someone who loves and accepts everything about him, even when Keith struggles to love himself so unconditionally.

“Tell me more about this mate thing,” Shiro says, turning Keith’s hand over in his and kissing each of his knuckles.

“You know,” Keith huffs.

“I really don’t,” Shiro says, turning his eyes on Keith. “I can guess, but I don’t _know_.”

“You’re my person,” Keith blurts, unsure how else to explain it. “You’re it for me.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, a look of such adoration on his face Keith nearly weeps.

“Oh, Keith, you’re it for me too,” Shiro whispers.

It shouldn’t feel so emotional to hear the words. Keith knows it’s the truth, has known since the day Shiro first kissed him. They’ve proven their devotion to each other time and again, quite literally crossing the ends of the universe and back for each other. Shiro’s shown Keith he’s the single most important person to him at every available opportunity. Still, it’s one thing to know and another to _hear_ it.

Instead of calming the fire that’s been building inside of him, Shiro’s words are like kindling thrown on a flame. Keith burns with it, the previous and anxiety and fear dwindling over the need taking shape now.

“Mine,” Keith gets out, giving Shiro no time to respond before grabbing hold of Shiro’s ass and lifting him up. Shiro’s arms and legs fly out to wrap around Keith as he carries him to the bed and though it’s only a few feet, pride surges within Keith at his ability to do it.

“Damn, baby, you’re strong.”

Keith preens, a purr of pleasure rumbling out his chest. He is strong and he can take care of Shiro in every way. He _will_ take care of Shiro in every possible way.

There are so many damn things in the world Keith can’t control, so many ways he can’t protect Shiro. It’s overwhelming to think about the multitudes of the universe, to think about every possible future he once saw back on the space whale—most good, some decidedly not. It’s the not ones that haunt Keith, that keep him up some nights watching the slow rise and fall of Shiro’s chest as he reaffirms to himself that Shiro is safe and alive.

The ones that didn’t come to fruition linger as Keith remembers the universes where Keith couldn’t save Shiro. They’re not true, they aren’t the reality here, but they cling to Keith’s heart like shadows.

_“It’s a heavy burden to bear,”_ his mom had told him then. _“The weight of all that might be can destroy that which is, kit. Be careful.”_

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, a hand on his face bringing him back. “Hey, look at me. You’re going to the dark place again, aren’t you?”

Keith doesn’t answer in words, doesn’t need to. Shiro can read it in his eyes.

“You saved me, Keith. I’m okay. _We’re_ okay,” Shiro says, wrapping his legs around Keith tighter as Keith’s knees hit the bed.

The whine Keith makes is embarrassingly loud and he bites down on his bottom lip to try and quiet the sound as he tips Shiro onto the bed. Shiro refuses to let go of him, taking Keith with him so that Keith collapses on his chest as Shiro’s back hits the mattress.

A low growl slips out as Keith’s unable to contain the frustration he feels with himself. He’s come so far. So much fucking meditation and therapy and talking with Shiro. It’s been so long since this last happened, he thought he’d put it in the past.

It’s not fair. Keith doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want the memories of losing Shiro, real or not, wedged into his heart. But try as he might, he can’t let them go. 

“I’m right here,” Shiro murmurs, dropping his legs to the bed but keeping his arms around Keith’s neck.

Keith tries, he really does, but focusing his eyes on Shiro’s face reminds him of the split lip and bruised cheek that mar his flesh. It’s not even close to the worst Keith’s ever seen him hurt, but it’s the first time he’s seen him get hurt since they got together and something about it hits differently.

“Right here, baby,” Shiro repeats, reaching for Keith’s hand and bringing it up to his chest and over his heart. “You feel that? You feel me here with you?”

Beneath his palm, Shiro’s heart beats. The solid thud of it steadies him and he closes his eyes, focusing on the melody of the beat—his heightened Galra senses allowing him to easily pick up the sound.

“Good boy, that’s it. Focus on me. Only me,” Shiro whispers, tugging Keith down until it’s Keith’s ear resting over Shiro’s heart instead of his hand.

“You hear the way it beats because of you, baby? You saved me. You always save me. It beats for you,” Shiro tells him.

The shadows around Keith begin to fade, eclipsed by the brightness of Shiro’s heartbeat. Every lub dub of it sends a rush of warmth into Keith as he presses his ear more firmly to Shiro’s chest and basks in the sound.

He loves this, loves listening to Shiro and being close enough to hear and feel the life that floods through his veins. To feel the way Keith can calm him down or rile him up. 

Right now there’s not a single thing between them, no clothing, no emotional barriers—just Shiro and Keith together as Keith listens to his heartbeat. With every rise and fall of Shiro’s chest, his heart slows and Keith feels himself carried safely out of the darkness.

“That’s it, sweetheart. I love when you do this,” Shiro says, as if Keith listening to him is somehow enjoyable for him and not something he merely indulges. Keith still remembers those first few times he’d done it, unsure if it was a Galra thing or a Keith thing, but desperate to hear the sound of Shiro’s heart.

Keith likes to listen and Shiro likes to be listened to.

Whether it’s the end of a long day and Keith’s curling himself into Shiro’s lap to listen to his heart to calm himself down or mounting Shiro on the bed and taking full advantage of his Galra hearing to track every change in the beat as he fucks Shiro senseless, it's something that brings them closer. After being separated so many times, Shiro's heartbeat became a beacon of safety and desire for Keith—a northstar. 

For Shiro, it’s about being seen. Keith knows he’s not the only one who sometimes feels the darkness come. Between his time being replaced by the clone and missing in the astral plane, it’s easy for Shiro to feel replaceable—as if he could disappear and no one would notice. Keith tells him it won’t happen again, ever, but in his darkest moments Keith knows Shiro feels untethered and afraid.

_”When you listen to me I feel real,”_ he once confessed quietly, stroking his fingers through Keith’s hair as they lay together in the dark.

Shiro hadn’t been the only one to cry that night. 

After that, something shifted. It’s not just something Keith wants or needs, but Shiro too—it’s become _their_ thing. 

Keith knows a million lifetimes won’t be enough for him to love Shiro, but this helps. With his ear pressed to Shiro’s chest and Shiro’s strong hand resting at the nape of Keith’s neck, Keith feels something bigger than words pass between them. Words can’t soothe Shiro's trauma from the arena, or the reality that it’d taken them all so goddamn long to realize there was a clone. Words can’t soothe the itch under Shiro’s skin that says he’s unworthy. This, though, this can. Keith’s felt the way Shiro’s pulse shifts beneath his fingers when Keith’s got his fingers wrapped around his wrist. He’s heard the way Shiro’s heart slows when Keith is near because he’s content and safe.

It’s the same for Keith. Which isn’t to say Shiro’s words don’t help. Keith loves the way Shiro is free with his affection and praise, but it can’t completely chip away at Keith's trauma either. But listening to Shiro like this, feeling the thud of his heart against his ear and knowing without a shred of doubt Shiro is safe, that does fucking wonders.

Sometimes, words are insignificant. Hearts don't lie.

They’re safe and together and Keith feels his fangs begin to retreat as he counts the beautiful beats of Shiro’s heart.

“So beautiful,” Shiro murmurs, stroking his fingers across the back of Keith’s neck and up across his scalp.

Keith lifts his head to stare at Shiro’s face.

“I can take care of you,” Keith says, unable to quiet the purr that rattles out of his chest as he nuzzles his cheek into Shiro’s palm. “I can make you feel good.”

“Of course you can,” Shiro smiles, the tips of his fingers smoothing down the shell of Keith’s ear.

“Yes, I can,” Keith echoes, the residual echo of Shiro’s heartbeat still thudding in his ears. All it takes is one smile from Shiro for the way it makes him feel to shift, less of a grounding force and more fuel on the flame.

Keith wants to hear it beat harder, wants to watch the way Shiro gasps with pleasure as his pulse flutters and know implicitly it’s because of him. There’s not a person alive Shiro is this vulnerable with, no one else Shiro would pull against his chest and let listen to his heart. There’s no one else who gets to see Shiro naked and smiling beneath them, no one else gets to make his heart race.

It’s only Keith.

Keith’s the one Shiro trusts.

Keith is the one who makes Shiro feel good.

Keith is the one Shiro loves.

“Wanna be good for you,” Keith says again, reaching out to ghost his finger over the hollow of Shiro’s throat and up to the pulse. He presses his fingers against it, marveling at the way Shiro’s neck tips back to give him better access, awed at the way Shiro wants this—wants Keith. 

“You’re always good for me, Keith. But what do you _want_? What do you _need_?”

The question is so unexpected Keith hardly knows how to answer. He loves Shiro so much he aches with it. 

He needs to feel Shiro with him. He needs to claim Shiro as his, and be claimed in turn.

He needs to feel loved. He needs to show Shiro he’s loved.

The sight of Shiro’s bruised face is still so raw, the memories of almost losing him too real.

He needs a new memory. 

But he doesn’t know how to say all of that. He settles for shrugging, too fuzzy-headed to articulate the war of needs raging inside of him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“Can I tell you what I need?” Shiro asks, the rich timbre of his words washing over Keith.

Keith nods, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“I need to show you how much I love you. Can I do that, baby? You gonna let me show you?”

Keith inhales so sharply through his nose it makes his head spin. “ _Shiro._ ”

“Do you want that too, sweetheart? Maybe...maybe you need it too? Do you need to feel me all over you, feel the way my heart races when I get to touch you? Do you need to hear the way my heart beats faster when I get to be inside of you?”

The fire in Keith rages.

_This_ is what he needs.

Shiro knows. Shiro always knows.

“Yes,” Keith whispers, unafraid to admit the truth.

Shiro’s breathing is quiet but audible as he rolls them over so Keith’s the one with his back on the mattress, eyes wide as he stares up at Shiro on his hands and knees above Keith. He’s so beautiful, the low light from the lamp casting a warm shadow over his face and his pale white hair falling into his eyes.

“Look at you, so beautiful,” Shiro says, dropping down onto his elbows and smoothing his hands through Keith’s hair as he brings their mouths together. There’s nothing slow or tentative about the kiss. As with all things, Shiro is all in from the beginning and Keith’s toes curl as Shiro sucks his bottom lip into his mouth.

Kissing Shiro is a goddamn revelation and the sound of his heart beating thuds in Keith’s ears as Shiro grinds down, still kissing Keith with all he’s got. Keith doesn’t need Shiro to tell him how good he feels when he touches Keith, he can _hear_ it. The longer they kiss, the faster Shiro’s heart beats.

_Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub_.

It’s grounding as it is arousing, and for the first time since the test flight, Keith allows himself to simply let go. He’s safe with Shiro. Shiro can handle him, Shiro can take care of him. It’s okay to _need_.

“That’s it, baby,” Shiro praises as Keith goes lax against the mattress. “Look how gorgeous you are letting me do this, trusting me like this. I love you so much, baby.”

Keith exhales a shuddering breath, his own heart beating so hard against his ribcage it's hard to breathe. He can’t muster the words to tell Shiro _me too_ , can only hope Shiro knows.

“Perfect,” Shiro whispers, locking eyes with Keith.

He swallows down the urge to praise Shiro in turn or to divert Shiro’s attention. Instead he settles, focusing his attention on Shiro and letting him look. Shiro’s slow with his gaze, taking in the sweep of Keith’s messy hair and the yellow glint he knows is still in his eyes. He’s even slower as he drags his fingers over Keith’s lips, grazing them over the pointed tips of Keith’s half-fanged canines. He leisurely maps his hands across Keith’s chest, touching every inch of Keith’s skin.

“Can’t believe you’re really mine,” Shiro murmurs as his palms settle on the flat of Keith’s belly as he situates himself between the spread of Keith’s legs.

“Yours,” Keith manages, rewarded with a blinding smile from Shiro.

Left to his own devices, Keith would’ve tried to fuck Shiro against a wall, to try and burn out the residual adrenaline coursing through him. It would’ve felt good, fucking Shiro always is, but Shiro was on the right track. It wasn’t what either of them needed.

There’s no more darkness, no more fear, no more memories of what never really was clinging to Keith’s heart. There’s only now, only this.

Only Shiro and the way he makes Keith feel, and how Keith feels is _good_.

Shiro is attentive and worshipful as he lowers his mouth, kissing his way across Keith’s abdomen and mouthing at the scar above his hip. He’s sweet as he uncaps the lube from the bedside table, warming it between his hands before moving one of them to Keith’s ass. He’s confident but gentle as the first metal finger slips inside of Keith’s body, and patient as hell as he opens Keith up one finger at a time, so achingly slow that tears prickle at the corner of Keith’s eyes.

He’s so used to making sure Shiro knows who he belongs to that sometimes Keith forgets how much he aches to know too, how much he aches to be reminded who he belongs to as well.

Focusing on Shiro is safe. Letting Shiro focus on him is harder sometimes.

Luckily for Keith, Shiro’s not afraid of a challenge. Every time Shiro does this, it gets easier for Keith to let go, to let Shiro love him without trying to take control and flip the focus off himself. And every time he’s rewarded tenfold.

“I’m so proud of you,” Shiro extolls, three fingers deep in Keith’s ass and his mouth above his dick. It should sound salacious or patronizing, but somehow it's the most earnest sentence Keith’s ever heard.

Shiro is proud of him.

Shiro knows exactly what this cost Keith to let go, to allow himself to want and need, and _he’s proud of him_.

“Shh, don’t cry,” Shiro soothes. “I’m here.”

“M’not,” Keith replies automatically. It takes him a second to realize that yeah, he is, actually. He swipes at his face, taking a few slow breaths to try and steady himself. He wasn’t prepared to feel so damn much.

“Do you need a break?” Shiro asks, pressing a kiss to the softest part of Keith’s tummy.

“No,” Keith answers, more affected than he can express by Shiro’s awareness of Keith’s needs.

“What do you need?” Shiro asks, pumping his fingers in and out of Keith’s ass slowly.

“I need you to fuck me,” Keith groans, knees falling open when Shiro’s fingers brush over his prostate.

Shiro grins, his pleasure palpable in the uptick in his heartbeat. “I can do that.”

“Show me everything you can do,” Keith gasps when Shiro pulls his fingers out.

“So feisty,” Shiro teases, using his prosthetic to coat his dick in lube while his left hand smooths over Keith’s thigh.

“You like it,” Keith snorts.

“You know I do, baby.” Shiro grins, lifting Keith’s legs up and over his shoulders as he inches forward, nearly bending Keith in half as he drops his hands down onto the pillow on either side of Keith’s head. It’s an action that brings his dick to Keith’s ass, the thick head slipping inside. “Love you everything about you.”

Keith can do no more than grunt, digging his heels into Shiro’s shoulders and shamelessly trying to get him to move his hips. It’s too much like being teased, having just a little bit inside of him. He wants it all. He wants to feel that stretch from Shiro’s dick, wants the air punched out of his lungs as Shiro fucks him.

“Good?” Shiro asks, nosing against Keith’s cheek and pressing a little kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Yes,” Keith huffs.

Slowly Shiro rocks his hips forward, filling Keith. With every new inch he feels consumed in the best way possible until Shiro’s all the way inside, the flat of his hips firmly wedged against Keith’s ass.

He’s so damn full, caged in on all sides and his body folded in half beneath Shiro. It’s _amazing_.

“Better?” Shiro asks, a little smug and a lot sweet.

Shiro knows it is but if he wants to hear it, Keith’s not about to deny him.

“Feels so good.”

“Yeah, baby, I make you feel good,” he says, pulling back then thrusting back in. 

Keith nods, too overcome to speak when Shiro does it again. It’s like being taken apart and put back together with every thrust and Keith is undone by the way Shiro fucks into him, somehow as confident as he is gentle. There’s something worshipful about the roll of his hips and the sweet words that fall from his lips.

He didn’t know how bad he needed this, but Shiro did. Shiro’s always been an expert at reading Keith, able to see him when the rest of the world looked through him, and somehow able to parse through Keith’s many walls to get to the heart of what Keith needs even when Keith hardly knows himself.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Shiro soothes, the filthy sound of his hips slapping into Keith’s ass at direct odds with the tone of his voice. “Feel me. Feel every inch of me. I’m here with you because you saved me, because we saved each other.”

“Yes,” Keith whispers, surprised to find his jaw trembling.

Sex with Shiro is always like this, always so encompassing. It doesn’t matter if it’s a quickie handjob in the showers before work, a desperate needy thing, fucking against the wall as they claw at each other or something quiet and reverent like this. It’s always overwhelming for Keith because _it’s Shiro_. It’s sex with the man he’s loved fucking forever and Keith’s never, ever going to get used to knowing Shiro is his.

“Feel,” Shiro murmurs, lifting Keith’s hand to his chest. “Feel what you do to me.”

“Oh,” Keith exhales, a slight tremble in his hand as he spreads his fingers wide and rests his palm directly over Shiro’s heart. His hearing is good enough that he could pick up the rapid beat, but it was drowned out by the sounds of their fucking. It’s not drowned out now. Shiro’s still fucking into him, but it’s eclipsed by the solid _lub dub_ beneath his palm. The beat is so strong, so fast, and Keith nearly weeps.

“Yeah, Keith. That’s for you. Feel it, feel the way it races because of you.”

Keith can’t help it, he _purrs_.

“You feel so good,” Shiro continues, a little moan falling from his lips. It’s a little unfair that Shiro can talk and fuck at the same time when Keith is barely able to remember his own name during sex. “I love touching you, kissing you, being with you. I love the way you look spread out beneath me and the quiet little sounds you make when I fuck into you. I love the way you feel clenching around me, so eager to take me in. You’re so beautiful.” 

“ _Shiro_ ,” he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s so damn much.

“Your Shiro,” he offers, slowing his thrusts to bend down and kiss the tip of Keith’s nose and each of his cheeks.

The purr in Keith’s chest rattles as loud as a goddamn hoverbike and he’s helpless to stop it.

“I like that too,” Shiro says, as if reading his mind. “Such a pretty sound, feels good too.”

At that, Keith cracks an eye open to find Shiro smiling down at him.

“Hi, pretty boy.”

Keith kind of wants to scream, but in a good way. It’s unreal that after all this time a few sweet words from Shiro can still make him blush the way it did when he was sixteen and nursing a puppy crush on Shiro that he never thought would come to fruition.

“My baby,” he praises, picking up the speed of his thrusts. “My pretty baby. You feel so good. Can you feel how good you make me feel?”

Keith nods, desire blazing through his veins as Shiro’s heart races beneath his palm. 

The closer Shiro gets to his orgasm, the less he talks, his words dissolving into little gasps and moans that further Keith’s arousal. As much as Keith’s loves Shiro’s sweet but filthy mouth during sex, he lives for the moment Shiro feels so good he loses coherence, for the moment he can do nothing but _feel_.

The louder Shiro’s moans get, the faster his heart goes.

_Lub, dub. Lub dub._ The sound of it thunders in Keith’s ears as their skin slaps together, Shiro’s thrusts become harder and deeper.

“Love you,” Shiro gasps, dropping down to kiss Keith in a needy, desperate kiss that has Keith’s knees pressed against his chest as Shiro’s entire body shudders.

The sensation of Shiro coming is enough to tip Keith over the edge, infinitely affected by Shiro’s pleasure as he nips at Shiro’s lips and digs his heels into Shiro’s back with such force there’s a good chance there’ll be marks there tomorrow.

Keith rides out the waves of his release as Shiro pants into his mouth. It’s only when Shiro stops shuddering that he pulls out, sending Keith’s legs down onto the mattress as Shiro collapses beside him facedown.

“You okay, old timer?”

Shiro grunts. Unlike Keith, who always feels a little hyped up in the best way possible after sex, Shiro gets sleepy and slow.

Keith reaches out to smooth his fingers over Shiro’s nape, smiling at the way it makes him shiver. He’s so responsive.

“Well-fucked is a good look on you,” Keith says.

Shiro turns his head to face Keith, a lazy smile on his face. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” Keith affirms, dragging his nails over Shiro’s scalp. The effect on his heart is instantaneous, the beat slowing as Keith works his fingers into Shiro’s hair.

“Have I mentioned recently I love you?” Shiro asks, slurring his words a little when Keith’s nails get close to his ear.

“Yes, but you can say it again if you want.” For good measure he drags his fingers lower, pulling Shiro’s ear between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a little tug.

“Oh my god, I love you,” Shiro groans, arching his neck.

Keith bites down on his bottom lip unable to contain his smile. Uncaring what a sticky mess they are, he throws his leg up and over Shiro’s ass and lays himself down directly on top of Shiro’s beautiful back. All the while he continues to rub Shiro’s ear, dotting kisses between Shiro’s shoulder blades. 

“We’re sticky, need a shower,” Shiro mumbles.

“Want me to move?” Keith asks, laying another kiss to Shiro’s right shoulder. 

He doesn’t particularly want to move. Unlike Shiro, who is a borderline obsessive about being clean, Keith’s perfectly content to remain comfortable and sticky regardless of the state it'll leave him in later.

“Please don’t,” Shiro huffs, words half-muffled by the pillow. 

It’s a surprising answer since Shiro hates being dirty, but maybe not that surprising since he sounds a little out of it. Another rush of pride floods Keith. He loves knowing how good he makes Shiro feel, during and after sex. 

He briefly indulges the idea of getting up to get something to clean them up, but just as easily dismisses it. Shiro is lax beneath him, his body warm and heavy. They can clean up later. For now, if Shiro is content to remain here, then Keith is going to take advantage of it. 

He presses one more kiss directly in the center of Shiro’s shoulders before resting his head there. The sound is fainter than before, but still rings clear as Keith nuzzles his cheek against Shiro’s back.

Slowly but surely, Shiro’s heart rate slows to its normally slow resting rate. The familiarity of it has Keith’s entire body going boneless as he focuses on the steady rise and fall of Shiro’s breath and the beautiful _lub dub_ of his heart.

Contentment floods Keith, and a surety takes hold as traces his fingers down Shiro’s left arm and reaches for his left hand. A ring would look damn good there.

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith whispers, letting his fingers dance across the back of Shiro’s hand.

“Hmm?” Shiro mumbles, sounding half asleep.

“I uh, I got you a little something. Remind me to give it to you after we shower later,” he says, thinking of the tiny box hidden in his sock drawer.

“Okay, baby,” Shiro breathes, his eyes drifting shut as Keith covers Shiro’s hand with own, linking their fingers.

With a soft sigh, Keith closes his own eyes and gives Shiro’s hand one final squeeze before he drifts to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Sheith with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)


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